The Sheik’s coded e-mail message included an unusual request. His twin daughters would soon be turning fourteen and for their birthday gifts they desired a pair of playmates who were also twins. Not only that, but they had to have read hair, and they had to be young, preferably only a few months into puberty. The Sheik, naturally enough, demanded that they also be virgins.

That would be a tough order to fill even for a person who makes his living procuring and selling young boys into slavery. This sale would be different, however; instead of being an on-line auction open to all qualified bidders he was proposing that I do this for a flat fee. The challenges associated with even finding, let alone successfully abducting, a pair of young red- headed twins was certainly daunting, but the compensation that he suggested was absolutely staggering so I accepted the commission, knowing that I only had two months in which to make it all happen.

By the next morning I was in a large city, one of several within a thousand miles from my home. Finding one suitable boy to abduct isn’t much of a problem. There are always boys running around the streets alone, and one just has to go near the low-income housing projects, which are shunned by people of wealth and influence, and make his selection. Hundreds of kids disappear every year in communities like these and the police usually only make a cursory inspection before writing it off as just another runaway or non-custodial parent abduction. Twins are rare, however, and red headed twins of a suitable age are even rarer still, so I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Shopping malls, particularly those near schools, are usually promising, and the blonde-haired blue-eyed Nordic types that bring the best price at auction are abundant, but none seemed to contain twins, let alone red-headed ones. Local newspapers that cover the local school sports action sometimes offer possibilities, but most focus only on the high school level and the boys I wanted were probably still in middle school. I only had a few weeks left before the birthday party and I had already decided to call it quits, and maybe pick up a common lone boy for the next Internet auction.

I was standing in line in the public swimming pool lobby, casually scanning the pictures on the wall, when I hit pay dirt. I never troll around schools, and I only go to pools during adult hours and then only to swim. People charged with the safety of kids take their jobs very seriously and are always on the lookout for lurkers. The South Side Sixth Grade Sharks team picture, taken two years ago, clearly showed a pair of red haired twins. Last year’s picture only included one of the boys. It wasn’t a very good picture, but the boys looked as if they might by now be the right age. I surreptitiously looked at the caption and determined the names of the boys, Josh and Jared Smith.

I holed up in my motel room and marked the location of the pool on my city map, identified the streets within a mile radius, then went to work with the telephone book. Telemarketing type calls eliminated two of them as retired people too old to have kids that young, so I concentrated on the others.

I have a Ford cargo van that is equipped with ladder racks and a cable utility logo on the door. It is completely anonymous, and no one gives it a second glance. I drove to each of the addresses, climbed nearby utility poles, and focused small video cameras equipped with motion detectors on each of the homes. I retrieved the cameras the next day and reviewed their contents. The third one, the home of a Ms. Anna Smith, clearly showed the two boys leaving for school. They dressed differently to express their individuality, and sported slightly different hairstyles, but they were obviously twins. I was still working in the area, tracking down that pesky ‘intermittent failure’ the next morning when they left for school. No apparent facial hair, piercings, or tattoos, which was good, and only soft, downy fuzz on their legs. I hoped they were indeed pubescent or I’d have to turn them loose. I won’t sell young boys. Period.

I stayed in the area the next week and by the following Friday I had their routine pretty well nailed. They left for school together and quickly joined other kids on their walk to school. They went to the pool after school for swim practice and were picked up afterward by their mother if the weather was sloppy, otherwise they walked home by themselves. My hopes soared when I heard them talk. Their voices had the sort of warbling contralto caused by the first influx of testosterone. All I had to do was capture them and I’d be a half a million dollars richer.

A single boy is easy to take. Just get him alone in an isolated area and set out some bait. I usually use a device that looks like an expensive aluminum flashlight that has been carelessly left unguarded. It is a flashlight, but it has been modified to deliver a powerful, incapacitating electric shock. Once they have been stunned by it the boys are quickly maneuvered into the plywood box that is in the back of the van. That approach would never work with two boys at once, and I had to modify my method to accommodate them both.

Ultimately, Josh and Jared’s downfall was their laziness. They liked to take a shortcut home through the backyard of an unoccupied home instead of sticking with the streets and sidewalks. The setup was perfect because a large untrimmed hedge obscured most of their trespass from view. Unbeknownst to their swim coach and their mother they also paused there to share either a cigarette or a joint, I couldn’t tell which it was from my perch on the utility pole.

The boys had just turned the corner into the back yard of the vacant house and already had their cigarette out, tobacco and not dope, when they saw the van. The ladder racks and the door logos were gone now, and it had curtains on the back windows and wide chrome wheels. Soft rock music was playing on the stereo, and a voice inside was saying ‘Gee Howard, I don’t think I can take it all, it’s so big,’ followed by a soft moan of pain as the van started rocking in perfect synchronization to a man’s low grunting.

Some say the gas was a product of the CIA, others swear that it was invented by the military; all I know is that it works. Two sets of curious adolescent eyes appeared at the open back window momentarily, only to be met by a whiff of the gas in their faces. The boys were quickly transferred to the wooden box and I left town, headed the opposite direction from my home. I stopped out of town and removed the boy’s clothing, which they had fouled, cleaned them up, and put disposable diapers on them. They dim light revealed that they were indeed pubescent, but just barely. I left their clothing and identification there and reversed direction toward my home and settled in for a long night’s driving. To help pass the time I contemplated how I might spend the money, and early the next morning I pulled into my garage.

I transferred my cargo to the cell in my soundproof basement and laid them out on the padded sleeping bench. I was tired and needed to sleep, but first I had work to do. I changed their diapers, which were only wet this time, and paused to check them over. They were truly identical twins, and even the cut of their circumcisions was the same. Their soft, downy pubic hair hadn’t yet started creeping towards their thighs and navels, and their testes and penises, while obviously functional, lacked the fullness of those found on older adolescents. The only apparent difference was an appendectomy scar on one of the boys’ abdomens, and that probably accounted for his missed season on the swim team. I applied fresh diapers, then set out juice and snacks for them as well a printed instruction card commanding them to deposit their diapers in the slot and to shower and clean up when they awakened, and warning them not to masturbate and informing them that they were under video surveillance. They would wake up in a few hours with wet diapers, somewhat disoriented, and extremely thirsty. In addition to temporary incontinence while asleep another side affect of the gas was that they would have erections when they woke up. The camera on the ceiling would probably make them too timid to jack off, but as far as I was concerned their bodies and their emissions now belonged to the Sheik and he would have to authorize any sexual activity. The final thing I did before going to bed was to affix a metal collar to each boy to make them a little easier to control when they were picked up by the Sheik.

The nature of the commission made my job a little easier; normally each boy would have to be secured to the examining room table in the adjacent room for measurement and photographing prior to his Internet auction. He would be brought to erection, the dimension of which would be verified with a ruler, then forced to orgasm so that the strength and volume of his ejaculate could be documented. A semen sample would also need to be collected to authenticate the viability of his sperm. These boys, being pre-sold, would not be subject to that trauma.

There is a story circulating in the trade that tells of an unscrupulous dealer who used a doctored ruler in his pictures. It is probably just another urban myth, but as the story goes the buyer altered the dealers personal penile dimensions to match the deception. It actually works both ways: Some buyers want a slave of heroic dimensions while others would be intimidated if a slave was better endowed than themselves. Either way an accurate representation is important and if the story is true then the dealer got what he deserved.

I finally went upstairs, sent the Sheik a coded e-mail, and went to bed.

“They are perfect, are they not?” The Sheik commented as he surveyed his purchases. The boys squirmed uncomfortably as he ran his hands through the soft, fine hair of their crotches, and then between their legs to gauge the size of their balls.

“Yes, Your Excellency, I believe they are,” I answered. He wasn’t any more excellent than myself, but it didn’t hurt to stroke him a little. The boys weren’t looking too excellent. Their collars were affixed to fasteners on the wall of the examination room, and their feet could barely touch the floor, and it was bad enough to be naked in a room full of well-dressed strangers, let alone being groped by one. “The one difference,” I said, pointing to the appendectomy scar on Josh’s abdomen, “And it can be duplicated on his brother, if you wish.” Jared didn’t seem too enthused at that idea.

“That decision will be left up to my daughters,” The Sheik decided, “I don’t think I could tell them apart without the scar.”

The Sheik motioned to the heavier of his two bodyguards, who with a slight flourish opened the attaché case that had been chained to his wrist. “Your payment, Mr. Miller, as agreed.”

I didn’t bother to verify or even estimate the count; to do so would have been an insult to the Sheik’s integrity. “Thank you, Excellency,” I said, “I’m sorry that I can’t authenticate their virginity.”

“Children so young?” He answered, raising his bushy eyebrows, “Even in your

country?” I simply shrugged my shoulders and thought about how little we all know about young people today. “I would like to use your facilities for a few minutes, if I may,” The Sheik said, motioning to the examination table.

The Sheik tended to do what he damn well pleased anyway, so I just nodded and steep to the side. The bodyguards seized Jared and held him fast to the table. Another man, who was the Sheik’s personal attendant, placed his hand between the boy’s thighs and gently fondled his testicles. After a few minutes Jared’s prick began to swell, and the man then gently stroked it. “Please continue on your own,” He told the embarrassed lad, who had never before been commanded to masturbate.

The boy took a few tentative strokes, and then he closed his eyes, ignored his audience, and really got into it. He may have been new to the sport but he had already figured out what he liked, and he paused every few strokes to rub his scrotum. I glanced over at Josh to find that although his hands remained at his side he was also erect, with his slender teenage cock arching upwards at an angle that older men can only envy. He seemed intent on watching his brother, although as twins and roommates they had doubtless seen and had perhaps even shared each other’s erections.

It was over with quickly; the boy had evidently obeyed the injunction I had placed on unauthorized emissions and was packing a four-day load. Jared suddenly stiffened, arched his back slightly, and released the grip on his cock. The first spurt was so powerful that it reached almost to his neck, with the two follow-ups only slightly less intense.

“It is a pity that such vitality is bestowed on mere children, whom society prohibits from utilizing and truly appreciating what they have,” the Sheik said, solemnly, nodding to his assistant, who then retrieved a hypodermic from his case and administered it to the boy. Already groggy from the orgasm, he promptly went to sleep under the drug’s influence.

“I love my daughters very much,” the Sheik commented, “But I’m still their father and I’m not stupid.” He nodded again to the assistant. The man retrieved a small surgical pack from his case and opened on the table. He swabbed the youth’s scrotum with disinfectant, taped the flaccid penis to the hairless abdomen, looped a rubber tourniquet tightly above the testicles, and took a jewel encrusted gold handled knife with a blade so thin and sharp that it was almost invisible and excised the sleeping boy’s genitals. “This knife has been in the family for generations,” the Sheik said, “It is only used for this one purpose.”

The bodyguards carried the new eunuch to a waiting stretcher and then went to the wall where Josh was restrained. The boy had just had the unique experience of seeing his own future and he wasn’t about to be a willing participant in his final ejaculation and subsequent neutering. Small as the boy was it took all of the effort of both large bodyguards to secure him to the table.

“Please accept this as a token of my appreciation,” the Sheik said, handing me the priceless knife that had just been used to castrate his two purchases. “I’m sure that it will never again be used for a more noble purpose.”

I could have argued about just how noble it was to nut thirteen-year-old boys, but instead I just thanked the Sheik for his generosity. No use pissing him off, particularly when I was planning to shut down my business and retire. My luck wouldn’t hold forever, no matter how careful I was, and his payment had just secured my retirement. I did know one thing however; as treacherous, vile, and diseased as prostitutes are these days I was going to need one later that night, and the bulges in the guard’s pants as they watched the emasculations made me believe that I wasn’t the only one needing a practitioner of the world’s oldest profession.